Faraway & Co
by L.L.Bacall
Summary: A drabble series. In Storyville, IL on Neverland Ln. and Wonderland Blvd., there houses the largest department store in the Midwest; FARAWAY & CO, where a socially awkward, asexual, girl and her good-looking, pranky jerk of an Assistant Manager will constantly be at each others' throats; that is, until one of them decides to make the first move.
1. Elsa

Author's Note: Very first story on this site, no need to be gentle. This is a drabble series in the diary/journal format, and I told myself countless times not to write first-person-POV; I hate it. I'm more of a third-person-limited-POV type, but oh well. This story is a very slowburn JELSA and I understand that this isn't everybody's cup of tea; and if I'm honest, the age gap is scary, but you kinda have to be, I dunno, _demented_ to enjoy it like I do. Anyway, hope you enjoy this story as much as I love writing it. I will update a cover art soon, too.

This story is **Rated-M** for mature audiences. Just because it's a little mellow right now doesn't mean it won't get raunchy later on.

 **Summary** : What do you get when you add a socially awkward asexual girl from beauty, a good-looking, pranky jerk of an Assistant Manager, a cute and nerdy amputee from electronics, a lovable realist with a giant dog named Sven, an adorkable, hopeless romantic of a little sister, a grumpy yet kindhearted blonde woman from hardware good, a feisty redhead from toys, a moody Englishman of a boss, and every walks of life in the largest department store in Storyville, IL? You get FARAWAY & CO.

 **Faraway & Co.**

 _Elsa_

Dear Kit,

You know I must always keep routine, or as close to routine as possible. I like my days to be uneventful and a bit mundane, yet still have a bit of spice to an already mild life. However, nothing had prepared me for the entire spice cabinet that was my new manager to pour over my almost perfect dish that is my life into chaotic disaster.

It was a chilly morning in the four walls that was my room. The teal blue, satin-finished, walls looking much darker than they originally are, like an ocean of ink reflecting moonlight on the crests of its waves. I knew what was coming if I had just woken up minutes earlier than I typically did every morning. The _tick tick tick_ of the seconds hand rang loudly in its rhythmics lull in the already silent room; as I counted the seconds, it happened. The beeping of the alarm clock on my desk notified me that it was time to get up. Reluctantly, I sat up, removed the warm sheets from my body feeling the pricks of gooseflesh on my skin from the cold room, and proceeded to shut the alarm off.

Now, I know what you're thinking, Kit: who the hell still has alarm clocks nowadays?

Well, it's old fashion. I know my phone has its own alarm to wake me every morning, but when something was relatively cheap and doesn't eat up my phone's battery, then you know it's a good investment. Even better is the motivation to get out of bed to shut the annoying contraption up rather than continuing to snuggle within the relative safety of the warm sheets of my bed. We all have to get up sometime, right?

Glancing at the time the clock had, it was 5:30 A.M; work wasn't for another four hours. So turning the light on from my desk, I dug through the dresser drawer by the wall opposite my bed and pulled out my workout clothes. I dressed, made the bed, grabbed my old iPod with the earbuds already attached to the jack as routine, and headed for the door of the apartment. Locking the door, I placed the key under the potted plant until I came back. I know, I know, it sounds stupid, but my apartment had never been broken into. I mean, what the heck were potential thieves going to steal? My comfy sofa with the afghan draped on the backrest, or the beat-up coffee table? How about the second-hand furniture in my room, or Zel's paintings that hung about the apartment, decorating the drab, old-painted white walls (more like yellowing walls if you asked me)? I basically have nothing to offer for prospective robbers to steal.

I digress.

My workout was nothing new, but a bit of cardio from running a few blocks around for the next hour or so; then I showered when I came home. After showering and changing, breakfast was its usual bowl of oatmeal, some cantaloupe melon, and a cup of green tea with no sugar. No breakfast of champions, but it fed me as always, and was kind to my wallet. Think maybe I should add a bit of variety to my meals, Kit?

Checking the glowing green numbers on the kitchen oven, it read 7:00 A.M.; I had to be at work around ten—which I had ample time before the 89 bus to Arendelle Boulevard were to arrive at exactly eight o'clock in the morning, and the bus stop was a five minute walk so I had good timing.

As I do every week or two, I get a pitcher of water and pour some to the seven plants I own. I tuned to the music that they love from the iPod (relaxing acoustic guitar music) after connecting the speaker in the jack,; studies say that plants enjoy music or you talking to them as it helps them grow, as well as fool burglars into thinking you're home, therefore I do it. Grabbing the book I had been reading the last two days from the coffee table, I gathered my belongings into the handmade, blue, crochet bag I made last year before my moving out of my parents' house, and walked out the apartment. Rather than placing the key under the pot, this time I dumped it in the small pocket on the inside of the bag.

After walking the five minutes to the bus stop, I sat on the wooden-seat of the bench, noticing the new advertisement that wasn't there yesterday morning. It was for MAMA ODIE'S CAJUN CUISINE. I'd been there once; the gumbo was absolutely delicious, and the owner herself was gracious, sharing that warm and inviting southern hospitality that many had heard about here in the Midwest. Mama Odie's was giving me an idea for my hour lunchtime with Mer—you know, since we're barely scheduled the same lunch hour.

It was a little more than ten minutes into my reading of Faulkner's _The Sound and the Fury_ that it was when _he_ appeared. At first I paid no mind, after all, he was but a stranger that waited for the same bus I and a few others—which unfortunately, today I was alone. From the habitual first glance that all humans have when a stranger approaches, I was able to fully register how he looked before shifting my eyes back to my book. Dressed in the typical attire of a white-collared worker with a white, long-sleeved, button-up collared shirt that was form-fitted, skinny, navy blue chinos, a brown belt, brown dress shoes, and the navy blue blazer he held nonchalantly in his hand as it dangled behind his back, I must've guessed he worked at a law firm or something. The cologne he wore was distinctively _Light Blue_. Reminded me of another guy that once wore that same fragrance. Now, Kit, I'll admit that the young man was physically handsome, with short, messy, brown hair, skin fair with the cold bringing out a touch of color on his cheeks and ears, dark blue eyes that were focused on his phone, and a delicate nose. He was a pretty boy.

"Aren't you cold?" I remembered him asking me, not taking his eyes away from the screen before him.

The young man referred to my attire of a short, navy blue, short-sleeved, dress with black stockings, and black ankle boots (you know, that old thing since most of my money goes to important things like rent and food). My tan cardigan obviously resting on my lap along with the crochet bag. I understood what he meant. Here we were on a mid-October morning with the temperature well into the fifties, and upon first instinct would be to cover once self in the warmth of a jacket; but Kit, I was fine.

"It's only fifty-five degrees," I laconically answered. I wasn't much of a talker anyhow, so short answers to state my point was how I pretty much survived in this world.

"Uh-huh. Your skin's saying something different if the goosebumps aren't an indication of you being cold."

I was a bit peeved at how blasé he was with a stranger. Typically, one would be polite to another, especially with concerns over the well-being of someone, but this young man was rather…rude? It's like he was talking to someone he knew for ages. I hate to admit that his modulated voice, being clear and yet a tad husky, was rather pleasant to the ear.

"My workplace is worse," I had closed my book then after dog-earing the corner of the page I left off, not in the mood to resume my adventures of the Compson family.

"Huh, is it now?" His eyes finally away from the screen and bored onto me. He let his eyes take a good look at me from head to toe, making me feel a tad self-conscious when he playfully smirked; to be honest, I was a little creeped out regardless of how handsome the face of this jerk was. Yes, a jerk! "Can I ask where you work?"

"You _can_ , but I'm not obligated to answer you, you jerk. Now, if you'll excuse me, my bus is here. I hope we won't meet again."

Thank the universe that the bus had arrived a bit earlier than usual. Once the hiss of the brakes had the vehicle stop by the sidewalk, I stood from my place on the bench as I waited for the doors to open. But it was when he spoke that it dawned on me who this jerk really was.

"Actually, we'll be seeing each other quite a lot, Miss Snow," the man continued, his smile looking somewhat sinister than earlier; "The name's Jack Overland, the new Assistant Manager at FARAWAY & CO."

If the Earth was a land of quicksand, I wished at that time that it would swallow me whole into its sandy abyss.

Kit, I think I fucked up big time. Pray that I don't lose my job over this little encounter. I will let you know what happens later today when I get out.

— _Elsa_


	2. Kozmotis

It's been a while. Let's get this started!

* * *

 **Faraway & Co.**

 _Kozmotis_

 _16_ _th_ _October:_

Early morning was quite uneventful as usual. I awoke a little before dawn, say four in the morning, and everything was routine: getting up, shower, dress, eat, and everything else that one does the early hours before work. The company in my bed, however, was the only thing that was worthwhile. Her pale flesh bathed in the little light from the hallway from the opened door of the bedroom. Her chest (a favorite part of mine) exposed unashamed as it rose up and down in her steady breathing; breasts on the small side, but perfect. My company was an inelegant sleeper, but it was what she provided Sunday night from carnal deprivation for almost an entire week that I liked most about her; the sex was wild in a word animalistic.

Of course, she was young, not much older than my Emily Jane—whom I miss much after leaving for uni this fall—and it was rather odd at first. Our agreement of what our _relationship_ was was solely physical, and we kept it that way. Our constant disagreeableness (more like fighting) was what brought us together one late night after closing in my office, and on my desk. Being her boss, I felt as if I was abusing my position with my subordinate. I thought our relationship unethical after the first night, but now, I hardly care as I just crave that physical contact with her.

"Turn off the light, Pitch. It's too early," she mumbled groggily, cocooning herself in the warm, black, cotton sheets.

"Might as well get ready yourself," I sat on the bed tying the red, silk, tie. Honestly, the laziness of some people.

"Don't go in 'til ten." She had pulled the sheet over her head in blocking the dim light. The strands of her disheveled hair poking from the edge.

"You mean ten minutes past. It doesn't kill one to be punctual, or at least a tad early, now does it?"

"I'll be on time, Pitch. I promise."

As soon as I was done, I leaned over her, I could smell her natural, earthy, perfume with the scent of my own musk. I wanted to take her again just so she could cry how pleased she felt within these grey, lonely, walls, but I resisted the temptation; I only kissed the top of her messy mane before getting off her. Grabbing my mobile and wristwatch from the night stand, I walked out of my bedroom, letting my company continue her light snoring within the confines of the warm sheets.

She was no mild-mannered lady, that was for sure, in juxtaposition with my late wife's elegance. I don't know exactly what drew me to this girl; perhaps because she was young (recently turning nineteen), or maybe her free-spiritedness that I never had a chance experienced on account of coming from a strict, authoritarian household. All I do know is she was a thorn on my side after I employed her three years ago, and still is. Now I have to deal with another soon-to-be pain that was my new Assistant Manager that was almost like kin to St. North (one of the investors of the company). I swear, if he's anything like the jolly, fat, man, I'll give them my two weeks notice.

As soon as I pulled into my parking spot at the back of the building around 5:45 in the morning as shown by the blue light of the clock on the radio, I looked at the tired faces of my early employees huddled together for warmth.

"Good morning," I had greeted them as soon as I got out of my car.

The tall one, Ralph, grumbled under his breath along the lines of "about damn time" to the short man, Felix, whom shushed him and greeted me with the others that stood by the door. Never liked that fellow, but was a bloody good worker, therefore I tolerated him.

Once I opened the door, you can feel how cold inside was compared to outside. The bite of the chill from the dark room that was only lit by the exit sign above the threshold was bitter and numbing. I knew there would be complaints and I don't fault them. Turning the light on from the panel by the doorframe, the white fluorescent lights filled the room, and let my workers pass through so that I could disarm the alarm. God forbid we get another incident when the damn thing blared for fifteen minutes two years ago on account of someone forgetting their car keys. They no longer work here after quitting four months after the incident. That's fine by me.

What I hated most at that moment was the amount of cargo we were given once I walked down the steps of the loading dock. It was a sea of stacked cardboard boxes under wooden pallets, each containing holiday items for the departments to set up their side of the store, or stocking up shelves for the day.

I hate the holidays.

—Pitch

* * *

It's not my best chapter, but it's a little incentive for my MIA on this story. I was trying to outline where this story would go, as well as working on an ambitious story that I will post sometime in 2020; therefore, be on the look out for that as well. Any information regarding that story is kept tight-lipped for now. I'm currently working on the third chapter and fourth chapter for F&C so that it won't be late. It is a drabble series after all.

—LLB


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